A Dove's Tale

Chapter 77

"Well, good morning, Miss Ivetta."

The doctor's cheerful greeting when I woke came with a smile that crinkled the corners of his gray eyes. I couldn't help but return that smile.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Much better, thank you," I said, and it was the truth. The ever-present pain was just a dull throbbing, and although my head still felt foggy, it wasn't pounding anymore.

"Glad to hear it. Are you ready to try eating?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but my stomach beat me to it with a loud growl. "Sorry," I said sheepishly.

"Nothing to be sorry about. Music to my ears! Prince Chevalier, would you mind having breakfast sent up while I finish?"

"Not at all."

The butterflies woke up in a flurry of wings. From where I lay, flat on the bed with the doctor blocking most of my field of vision, I couldn't see Prince Chevalier, but his cold, arrogant voice carried clearly in the otherwise quiet room. He sounded normal, as if there was nothing unusual about any of this. As if it was to be expected that he would be here, waiting for me to wake up.

I couldn't stop smiling.

"There now, all done," the doctor said, pulling me back to reality. "Let's get you to the bathroom while he's gone."

That got rid of my smile. There is nothing more humiliating than needing help in the bathroom. I never had the energy, or the nerve, to look in the mirror the day before, but today, when the doctor carried me in, I looked. And I barely recognized myself. My face was a mass of swelling and bruising, my lips split and my eyes blackened. Soft bandages covered most of my body, thicker and heavier in some places to stabilize fractures, since I had too many stitches and cuts requiring frequent bandage changes to make casting practical for my broken bones. Whichever those were. The doctor didn't go into detail about my injuries, and I didn't ask. It was easy enough to guess, even if I didn't remember every sickening crack. Which I did.

The doctor was still talking. I tried to focus on his words, not the image in the mirror or the painful memories. If he noticed my inattention, he didn't comment about it. He carried me back out to the bedroom, where Prince Chevalier had taken up residence on the sofa with a book, and I averted my eyes to the breakfast tray waiting on the nightstand, its heavenly aromas making my stomach growl again. I knew I didn't need to feel embarrassed, but I did. At least I didn't make that pitiful whimpering noise when the doctor carefully set me on the bed, propping the pillows up behind me to help me stay upright while I peeked back at Prince Chevalier. His eyes were still on the pages of the book. The doctor set the tray over my lap, still talking to relieve the awkwardness of him feeding me, and when I'd eaten my fill and taken more pain medicine, he fixed my pillows and helped me lie down again.

"You have a good appetite," he said, beaming. "That's a good sign. I'll just take this back to the kitchens."

As soon as the door closed, Prince Chevalier set aside his book, removed his gloves, and came to my side.

"Good morning, Prince Chevalier," I said shyly.

"You're feeling better today," he said, taking my hand in his and sending a jolt through the butterflies.

"The medicine is helping."

"Good."

His crystal blue eyes were so warm. How could he look at me like that when I looked like a human punching bag? Which I was until he found me. I wished I could just fall into those eyes, forget every blow, every cut, every insult I endured during that waking nightmare, but the reminders were all around me. And on me.